Always Waking
by KipperMay
Summary: R for later chapters. Giles felt older every moment, and Oz’s youth only emphasized his own age. But he had forgotten how lonely it was, sleeping alone. He so rarely did anymore...
1. precious things

He woke to sunlight filtering through the window in golden rays. Specks of dust floated lazily in the light. When he sat up, his neck ached, and the bones in his spine creaked indignantly.

Hushed voices and the whisper of turning pages came from the main area of the library, and when he left his office the voices stopped, the pages stilled, and five young faces were upturned to him, five pairs of wide eyes focused on him.

"Giles?" Buffy's voice, quiet and politely concerned, pulled his groggy gaze to her. "Did we wake you?"

He felt a shadow of a smile on his lips, though his eyelids still felt unbearably heavy. "No, of course you didn't." The angle of the sun through the windows confused him, though... "H-How long was I asleep?"

Five young faces exchanged amused expressions; five young faces smiled sympathetically at the old, confused man standing before them.

"'Bout two hours," Oz replied, and his expression was slightly guilty, though a smile shone in his eyes. It had been a long night, and Daniel didn't tire easily.

"Two--" Giles sighed, slightly exasperated, and glanced at the pile of books accumulating at the end of the table. "Have you found anything?"

Buffy shook her head, closing a book tiredly. "Nothing particularly useful...and I think we should call it a day.'

Xander grinned the grin of a teenage finally being let off the hook. "Sounds good to me," he exclaimed, tossing a book aside, much to Giles' horror.

The young scattered, all of them ready for their evenings to begin. All but one, of course, one who lagged behind, waiting until the others were gone to slip into Giles' arms and grant him a long kiss. "Aren't you going out, Daniel?" Giles heard himself asking the boy in a fatherly voice.

Oz shook his head. "Gonna put you to bed. C'mon," he replied solemnly, wrapping a small but strong arm around Giles' waist and leading him gently to the car.

By the time he woke, Oz was gone from his bed. Always seem to be waking too late, he thought dryly, and got up slowly. He felt older every moment, and Oz's youth only emphasized Giles' age.

He found Oz in the kitchen, sipping coffee and watching the news in his boxers. He greeted Giles with a steaming mug and a toothpaste-flavored kiss. "Morning," he muttered, glancing back at the news. "

"Morning," Giles answered, sitting down. Oz was already getting up, however, and planting a kiss on Giles' forehead.

"Gonna be late," he explained, just before disappearing into the bedroom.

He remembered it was the night before the full moon as the young ones gathered after classes. He spoke up, volunteering to stay the night in the library with Daniel, but Xander disagreed. "You look tired lately, G-Man. Willow and I can handle it." Giles glanced at Oz, concerned enough to let the horrendous use of that nickname slide. Daniel shrugged mutely. Giles supposed he was grateful for so many volunteers. It was decided, and they opened their books again, and the sunlight was a deep orange, the shadows in the room elongated when they finally decided to call it a day.

Oz flashed him a small, sad smile as he slipped into the cage. Giles waited until Daniel's painful transformation was complete, then said his goodnights and went home alone.

He dreamt of Ethan, his former lover, and some combination or form of Daniel, the young man who clung to him and sometimes cried out in his sleep. In his dream, Giles was hiding from Ethan, who was a werewolf. When the sun came up, and Ethan was transformed to his human self, they made love.

He woke in the middle of the night, his mouth dry and his heart pounding. It was nearly two in the morning when he got back to the library. Xander slept peacefully, head resting on a thick leather-bound book, and Willow read. For a fleeting moment, Giles was sure she much older than her years. But the illusion passed when she looked up, large eyes full of curiosity.

"You two go on home. I couldn't sleep," he gently told those wide blue eyes.

Willow smiled, grateful despite her concern for him. The wolf howled when Giles' tea-kettle whistled, and he was sure he could hear Daniel's voice in that cry as well.

He slept. Daniel, sounding rough and a little groggy, woke him in the morning. "Giles? Let me out?"


	2. way down

Woke too late, his mind taunted quietly as he unlocked the cage. "Is it just you?" Oz was asking him faintly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes," Giles replied, absent-mindedly running a hand through Oz's hair. Their lips met and Giles sighed. He always forgot how lonesome it was, sleeping alone. He so rarely did anymore. Daniel's arms wrapped around Giles' waist, and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

"How touching." They pulled away, and Giles recognized the man in the doorway instantly. "How sweet. I should've known." Cain smirked at them, and Giles felt Daniel tense up beside him. Cain stepped closer, smirk fixed on his face, but Giles could see a dangerous shine in the werewolf hunter's eye. He opened his mouth, turned to warn Daniel, but Cain sprang forward, too fast for Giles, and the last he heard before sinking into blackness was Daniel crying out his name.

"Giles…"

"…Giles?" He woke, head aching, to see Buffy leaning over him. He was alive, which he supposed was a good thing, but…

"Oz?" he croaked, voice cracking. His heart sank at Buffy's expression—scared, sad. "He's not here?" Giles whispered, sitting up slowly. He regretted the movement instantly, and squeezed his eyes shut against the world swirling around him.

Buffy sighed. "No, he's not…we've looked everywhere." He felt her hand on his arm, helping him into a chair. "Giles…" her voice was small, frightened, and he forced his eyes open to look at her. "What happened? There's so much blood…" He looked around once his vision had cleared, heart pounding, to confirm what she had said. She was right. Blood everywhere…discounting his own, where he had fallen, it was splattered on the cage, on the table in front of him; on the walls and doors. Giles felt a swirl of nausea rise in his stomach, and he bit his lip against it. "Did you see what happened?" Buffy pressed gently, then, almost as an afterthought, "Will and Xander went to get some cleaning stuff from the janitor's closet. I guess we're lucky it's Saturday."

Giles managed a faint smile, despite the urge he had to break down, cry, scream, get sick. "I didn't see much," he sighed. "I woke up this morning, and Daniel was already awake, dressed. I opened the cage…" His vision grew dark, the nausea vanishing as anger rose in his throat. "And then Cain was here. I couldn't remember if Daniel had ever even seen the man when he wasn't in wolf form, but I knew he was afraid. Cain knocked me out and…" He trailed off, tears pressing once more at his eyes. If anything had happened to Daniel…

Buffy put a reassuring hand on his arm. "It's gonna be okay, Giles. I've run Cain out of town before. I'm going to put some major hurt on him this time."

"You'll have to do it before the sun goes down," Willow said from the doorway, her voice meek. She had an armful of cleaning supplies, and her eyes were red and puffy.

Buffy looked at her friend, confused, even as Giles understood. "He'll kill him," he said quietly, almost to himself, and as his words sank in, he closed his eyes again.

Willow sobbed once, and let her bundle of rags and spray bottles drop to the floor with a clatter. Buffy hurried over, picked up the supplies, and led Willow to a chair. "Sorry," the small redhead whispered.

Giles opened his eyes to smile reassuringly at her, however reluctantly. It was time to be the grownup. "Not at all, Willow. You should get some rest. Would you like to go home?"

She shook her head, sniffled. Buffy handed her a tissue. "In that case," Giles pressed on, keeping his voice carefully even, "we haven't much time. Buffy, see if you can't figure out where Cain might be staying." Xander walked into the library, carrying buckets and mops. His face was white, his eyes dark. "Xander and I will clean up this, er, this mess." Buffy slipped away, coat in hand.

Willow watched in silence as Giles and Xander scrubbed away the drying blood stains. Giles gritted his teeth, and prayed silently that the blood he was washing up wasn't Daniel's.


	3. me and a gun

When Oz opened his eyes, all he saw was blackness. He tried to turn, reach for Giles, forgot where he was. The cold chains, however, bit into his wrists, his ankles, and his neck, and then the memory came flooding back…

Giles, lying in a heap, blood trickling into a dark puddle on the floor. Giles' attacker, the werewolf hunter—Cain?—had a knife, and Oz had tried to fight him, but Oz's human form was so weak, and Cain had hit him, cut him again and again, then…blackness.

Now he was here. Where? In the dark, in the cold, alone. How long until sunset? His stomach growled, and he stifled a moan as the chains dug more deeply into his skin.

A door opened, light spilled into the room, blindingly white. Oz struggled to keep his eyes open against the light. Cain stepped into the room, shut the door, and turned on a lamp. Heart pounding wildly, Oz struggled to move, to sit up, but the chains on his neck pulled tightly, nearly cutting off his breathing, so he lay still, panting, as Cain sauntered to the bed where Oz was chained.

Cain's face floated into view above him, eyes narrowed, grin contorting his expression. "Finally awake, puppy? Thought I had permanently put you to sleep." Oz remained silent, watching the hunter carefully, keeping his face expressionless. He sat on the bed next to Oz, absently running his calloused fingers over the chains around Daniel's neck as he spoke. "Sunset's in a few hours," he said quietly. Hand moving up to Oz's neck, thumb tracing a line across his jaw. "Shame," Cain whispered. He was watching Oz through dark, heavy-lidded eyes, small smile on his lips. His fingers traced a light, dancing path over Daniel's cheek, the golden-orange stubble growing there, found their way to his lips. He leaned down, and Oz could smell beer, cigarettes, and a trace of blood on Cain's breath. Hunter's lips brushed werewolf's. Oz tried to turn his head, close his mouth, but Cain's hand tightened, nails digging into his cheek, mouth forced open by clumsy, intruding tongue.

Oz felt nausea build in his stomach and throat, and he couldn't breathe. Cain's hands were all over Oz, heavy and groping. The older man was pressed against Daniel, mouth devouring his. Oz's vision began to go blurry around the edges, then darken; he couldn't push Cain away…desperate, he bit down on the suffocating tongue in his mouth, tasted blood, metallic. Cain cried out, sat up, blood running down his chin and coating his bared teeth. There was terror in his eyes, and Oz could smell the fear rising off the hunter.

"Dogs bite. Didn't you know?" Oz whispered, between gasps of breath. Cain's hand swung, and, after a flash of pain, Oz fell into darkness.

_Dreamt of blood, the moon, forest. The hunter, now the hunted. Had the smell of another wolf, though. Brand new wolf, never changed, never let out, but soon…next time._

Oz opened his eyes. He hadn't really expected to wake up. Then again, he still had one more night. Then again…now that Cain had been bitten, he'd want some answers. Or at least to cause some pain.

The door opened, and Cain's voice, slightly slurred, floated into the room. "Let's talk." Flash of silver dagger.


	4. angels

"Librarian guy. Wake up."

Giles sat up with a start, and turned to see Oz's friend—David? No, Devon—glaring down at him. "Hey, librarian guy."

Giles stared at him a moment. "It's er, Mr. Giles, actually—"

"Whatever." Devon grabbed Giles' arm, pulling him into a standing position, facing him so they were nearly nose to nose. "Where is he? I know you fucking know, so tell me. Where is he?" Devon's voice was low, silky, dangerous. The crude words didn't match that voice, no, nor the immature, young face, eyes, body. The voice was velvet, silk, maturity, seduction. But there was fire in Devon's eyes.

Giles took a step backward, looking the younger man firmly in the eye. "We're trying to figure out where he is, Devon. I'm sure once we know—"

Devon leapt at him angrily. "No, damnit, tell me where he is!" Giles shoved him away, surprised when Devon collapsed into chair, wiping his eyes. "He's, like, dead or something, isn't he? When Willow said he disappeared—" He took a deep, shaky breath. "Hey, librarian guy?" he said again, quietly.

Giles handed him a tissue, and sat down next to him, hand on his shoulder. "Yes?"

Dev looked up at him. "I can…I can kinda see why he likes you so much." He sniffed, wiped his nose, smiled wryly. "I'm kinda jealous. All he talks about is you. He even said he was thinking about telling Willow, you know, about you guys or whatever." He sniffed again, blew his nose noisily as Giles, shocked, absorbed what the boy had said. _All he talks about is you._

He sent Devon home. Buffy reappeared, carrying two cups of steaming coffee. "Any luck?" he asked her, gratefully taking a sip from the cup she offered him.

She sighed. "Willy said he'd heard Cain was back in town, but didn't know where he was staying. I even beat him up…but, nothing. God, poor Willow! This must be so hard for her," she sighed, sipping her coffee.

For _her_, he thought, suppressing a wry smile and choking down the rest of his coffee. It was watery and bitter, and didn't do much good, except to dull the sharp edge of his fatigue.

He didn't even know where to look. Books—his fountains of knowledge—held no answers for him. They sat, smirking and collecting dust. The library was quiet, and suddenly, Giles realized that Buffy was staring at him, studying him quietly. Her contemplative gaze reminded him much of Oz, and he was forced to look away, cheeks reddening. "Buffy—" He glanced at her, stood to grab his coat from the back of his chair. "Perhaps—should we speak with Angel?" He was grasping blindly, he knew, but what else was there? Give up, a part of his mind whispered, both cruelly and pleadingly. He's most likely already dead, and Cain long gone.

As the sun dipped below the horizon in a blaze of reds and golds, Giles and Buffy knocked on Angel's door.

It was the night after the full moon, and the crickets sang as the sky darkened.


	5. crucify

Oz opened one eye. The other was pretty swollen, so he kept it shut. Not quite morning, he realized, but the moon had gone down. He didn't try to sit up. The cold metal on his neck was reminder enough of where he was. He turned his head, though, and found Cain asleep in a chair, still clutching his dagger. Oz realized with a brief moment of panic how much blood was splattered on that blade, and, as if the thought itself had triggered it, he felt weak, infinitely weary, and in a ridiculously large amount of pain. He closed his eyes (eye…) briefly, took a deep breath, and let his body relax. It gave him enough room to crane his neck, to check out how hurt he was. He was naked, uncovered—sure Cain loves that, he thought wryly. Fine scratches covered his chest, stomach, and thighs, but most of the blood, he figured, came from the open, dully throbbing cut that ran down from between his pecs almost to his belly button. Seeing it seemed to remind his nerve endings of its presence, and he hissed in pain.

"So you don't have a cure. None of you." Cain was smirking at him, but his voice was hollow, frightened.

Oz sighed, letting his head fall back. "Nope, no cure. You don't think I would've used it by now?" A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth despite him, and he kept his eyes carefully trained on the ceiling. "Next month you're going to change too. Like all the werewolves you've killed. How's it feel to be one of us?"

Cain leapt from his chair with a snarl, and roughly grabbed Oz by the hair, pulling his head painfully back, until Oz's chin pointed at the ceiling. "It'll be that much easier to find you," Cain growled.

Oz swallowed. "How are you going to kill a werewolf on the full moon? You'll be too busy being one."

Cain let the tip of his knife gently caress Oz's throat, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet, dangerous. Smug. "You know…I don't really care about the pelts anymore." The tip of the blade pressed, and Oz felt a drop of blood roll down toward his collar bone. "Should've killed you last night, though," Cain mused, "Could've gotten one last fur out of it." He leaned down, licking away the blood.

Oz shuddered, sickness and revulsion rising in the back of his throat. "Too late," he managed, whispering almost inaudibly.

Cain nodded, regretfully, almost, and stood with a sigh. "That it is." He studied the younger man with narrowed eyes. Oz's heart skipped a beat as he caught the scent of a bigger, more dominant, angry werewolf. He shrank back involuntarily, swallowing a faint whimper. "But maybe I'll keep you around," Cain continued as if he hadn't noticed—or understood—Oz's reaction, "just so you can watch every other werewolf I can find die."

"But…"

Cain chuckled, running a finger gently along the stained blade of his knife. "I know, kid, I know. Can't kill 'em on the full moons." He smiled. "Means I'll just have to kill 'em when they're human."


	6. tear in your hand

Angel sighed. "Sorry I can't help you more right now, but I've got to get back inside. I'll—" he looked at the ground. "I'll keep on looking when it gets dark again." And then he was gone, fleeing the growing daylight.

They all went home, wearied from the night's frantic search. Giles shut the door to his apartment, leaned his head against it, and finally allowed the tears to break past his eyes, rushing down his cheeks, finally allowed a sob to escape his throat. "Daniel," he whispered, shaking fiercely all of a sudden. "I'm sorry."

Despite the young ones' seemingly endless optimism, hope seemed to have run out as soon as the first shades of pink had begun on the horizon this morning. Their last night of possibility was over. Oz was dead, a pelt in a bundle, surely. The full moon's cycle had ended. He hiccupped once, wiped his face, and sat in an oversized armchair, letting his burning eyes close.

"What's this? Giving up already? Ripper, I'm disappointed in you." Ethan's voice was unmistakable. Giles opened his eyes, put on his glasses.

"If you've got some point, I wish you'd come to it," Giles sighed. He vaguely realized that what he said could have been some play on words, telling Ethan to go, oh, stab himself or something similar, but he was too tired for such Shakespearean thinking.

Ethan studied him, smiling slightly. "Bit young, isn't he? And damaged? That werewolf hunter did some good work on the boy. Are you sure you want him back?" With his last sentence, Rayne leaned in until the two men were nearly nose to nose.

Giles grabbed Ethan by the collar. He could tell he was taking Ethan's bait, slipping to Ripper mode, but he didn't care. "If you know where he is," Ripper said slowly, his voice low, "take me to him."

Ethan looked carefully, seriously into Giles' eyes for a moment before his features crumpled into mocking laughter. "There, there, old man, nothing to get so worked up over. Why do you think I came here? Get your coat."

When outside, Giles moved toward his car, but Ethan grabbed his arm. "It's not that far," he said, still smiling. He held onto Giles' arm as they walked across the street, his grip tight, almost painfully so.

"Ethan…" Giles said, suspicion a dark cloud in his mind. "Where are we going?"

Ethan glanced over his shoulder at Giles, smile now faint on his lips. "Not even leaving your neighborhood, Ripper. Saw the hunter going into that house."

It was small, nearly a shack, wet grass glistening in the early bits of sun shining from the already overcast skies. Giles felt a drop of rain, but barely noticed as he stared at the house in shock. "No…" he whispered, "no…" He, all of them, had passed that house every day, had never even thought…but why should they have? It was just an empty little house. But he had been so close all along…

Ethan tugged on his arm, but his grip, his expression, had softened. "He's still alive, Ripper. Come on."

They moved silently toward the house, and Ethan showed Giles the small window they could sneak through. They hurried down to the basement after Ethan had explained that he was fairly sure Cain was away. Giles rushed down the stairs, and his hand was on the doorknob into the basement when Ethan stopped him. "Ripper…" Giles whirled to look at him, desperation seeping into and picking at the edges of his logic. "Do you love him?" Ethan asked quietly. Giles nodded once, turned, but hesitated when he heard Rayne's reply. "Then this is going to be hard for you."

Giles pushed the door open.


	7. sweet dreams

Oz cringed when the door creaked open. He closed his eyes, pretended to be asleep, and tried not to let his breath hitch when a hand touched his cheek. He bit his lip, afraid, but he didn't smell Cain. His brow furrowed in confusion…Giles?

"Oh, Daniel," Giles breathed, and Oz cautiously opened his eyes. The older man, leaned over him, caressing Oz's bruised cheekbone, eyes glistening.

"Giles," Oz whispered, smiling slightly. "Found me." He hoped he wasn't dreaming, though the more cynical part of his mind figured he most likely was. Well, he thought, studying Giles' face, I'll sleep a little longer, then.

Rupert began pulling gently on the chains around Oz's arms and neck, brow furrowed in concentration. "Have to get these off," he was murmuring thoughtfully. He accidentally brushed a hand against a particularly deep bruise, and Oz inhaled sharply in pain. "Not dreaming," Oz muttered, cringing.

Giles kissed his forehead. "Sorry," he said quietly, biting his lip. His frown had deepened.

"If we can get moving, here," Rayne said from behind Giles, holding up a key. Oz only vaguely recognized the other man, but he knew he'd had something to do with the band candy. He closed his eyes against a rush of dizziness; in two (three?) days, he'd had nothing to eat, and almost no water. Ethan unlocked the padlock on Oz's chain, and Giles gently pulled the younger man free.

"Can you walk?" Giles whispered as Ethan carefully helped Oz dress.

"Yeah. I think so," he replied. Every step they took, however slow and gentle shot needles of pain through Oz's body. He was light-headed, and his vision blurred. "C—Cain?" he managed.

"Out," Ethan said curtly, pulling the door open. "But I can't imagine it would be pleasant if he returned and found us, hmm?" He urged them out the door, rolling his eyes at Giles' worried, loving expression. "Gone soft…?" Rayne whispered into Giles' ear, just softly enough that he knew the young werewolf couldn't hear.

Giles ignored Ethan. He had more important things to worry about. They crossed the street slowly, Oz cringing but remaining silent as his bare feet came down on sharp stones and pebbles. Giles felt a raindrop on his cheekbone, then another on his forearm, and suddenly it was raining, and lightning flashed, dangerously nearby.

They got inside as the first clap of thunder boomed. The tea cups in Giles' cabinet shook. He laid Oz onto the couch. The younger man let his eyes close, and he curled up with the faintest of whimpers, wrapping his arms around a small pillow. Ethan stood against the door, arms folded, silent until he figured the boy was asleep. "He'll never be the same, Ripper," he whispered, slipping toward Giles and putting his hands on his shoulders from behind. "The man ruined him…he won't want to get close…maybe not to anyone, but especially not to a dirty—old—man…"

Giles whirled, fist connecting with Rayne's jaw. The smaller man stumbled backward, and fell against a bookcase with a crash. Blood blossomed from his mouth and trickled down his lower lip. He was chuckling. "Some thanks," he gasped. "I saved your bloody boy toy, told you the truth, and…th…_this_." He was wheezing with laughter now, and wiping blood off his chin with his sleeve.

"Get out," Giles said quietly. His voice was angry, but Ethan knew his eyes—they were flat, dull.

Rayne opened his mouth to protest, but Rupert was already sitting down, one hand on his face, the other pointing toward the door. So Ethan left. He looked over his shoulder, through the window, rain washing the blood from his face. Giles had reached out, tenderly touching Oz's cheek, and despite the small smile that lingered on Ethan's split lips, jealousy flared, a tight knot in his chest, and he turned away, swallowing and clenching his jaw.

He walked away from Giles' apartment, rain running into his eyes, and stopped to watch Cain return to the house. When the werewolf hunter came bursting out into the street a moment later, Ethan chuckled despite himself and kept walking.

Pillock.


	8. silent all these years

When Giles woke, Oz was gone from the couch, and for a moment his heart sank as he wondered if rescuing Oz hadn't been a dream. Then he heard the toilet flush, and he let out a breath of relief.

Oz wandered back into the living room, looking dazed. He glanced at Giles, almost guiltily, and averted his eyes as he sat back down and wrapped himself in a blanket. He had washed, and gotten dressed, and tended his own wounds, it seemed. The cuts and bruises on his face stood out starkly against his marble white skin, the circles under his eyes dark enough to match the bruises. "I—ate," Daniel said suddenly, looking up and fixing his tired eyes on Giles. "And showered. Hope you don't mind," he finished, looking away again.

Giles nearly reached out, nearly touched him, but thought better of it, and sighed and smiled reassuringly instead. "Of course I don't mind. You've always been welcome to use what you need," he said gently. Oz nodded once, and pulled the blanket more tightly around his shoulders. He seemed even smaller than usual, as if he had sunk in on himself, and his eyes were far away. Giles could take it no longer, and sat carefully on the couch next to Oz, and touched his cheek. "Daniel…"

Oz flinched, then blinked, seemed to come back to himself, but still gently pulled away from Giles' touch. "Ow. Bruise," he whispered. Giles sighed. Bruise, indeed, though he knew it wasn't the kind currently marring Daniel's perfect cheekbone, mottling it in purples and yellows.

But Rupert only nodded and looked away. "Sorry," he breathed.

Oz shrugged. "Really not your fault," he said quietly, and Giles knew the younger man had meant to be reassuring, but his heart wrenched painfully all the same.

Giles bit his lip as he stood. "Daniel—" the boy looked up. "I'm going to call the others, tell them you're all right. All right?" Oz looked at him blankly for a moment, then nodded mutely.

When Giles got off the phone, Daniel was asleep. The sun was going down, and the young ones were on their way to being reunited with the werewolf in Giles' apartment. He had also called the boy's parents, who had only just been beginning to wonder. No surprise, then, how Daniel had managed to spend so many of his nights here. His parents simply didn't care.

Devon arrived first. He didn't knock, just turned the knob and walked in, past Giles, and sank to his knees on the floor by the couch where Oz slept. "Oz, hey, man…" Devon said gently, and Giles was surprised again at the young man's voice—silk and seduction. Oz shifted, but didn't wake, and when Devon put a hand on his shoulder to carefully shake him, Daniel gasped and sat up with a start, pushing Devon's hand away.

When Oz's eyes focused, he sagged visibly with relief, though Giles could still see clearly the tension knotting his back and shoulders. "Dev?" He stared at his friend for a moment, then, in an uncharacteristic display of affection that drove Giles nearly mad with envy, Oz threw his arms around Devon's neck, hugging him tightly. "Kinda never thought I'd see you again," Oz explained in a whisper, chuckling quietly as he pulled away.

Devon smiled at him, took a breath to reply, but Giles' front door opened again, and the young ones burst in, Willow, Xander, and Buffy, and rushed to the couch where Oz sat. Oz watched them carefully as they approached, and smiled mildly at each of them, his gaze lingering on Willow's tear-stricken face, but he was tired and Giles seemed to be the only one who knew it.

He ushered them out about half an hour later, explaining that Oz would be needing his rest. They said their goodnights, Devon especially shooting Giles a poisonous look as he walked out. By the time Rupert had shut the door behind them, Daniel was lying down again, and his eyes were closed. He sat on the edge of the couch, careful not to disturb the young man, and looked Daniel over. Oz was terribly battered; more importantly, he seemed completely out of sorts—afraid of people. Not of people, of _me_, Giles thought, but quickly pushed that fear out his mind. He's got nothing to be afraid of…

But as he crawled into his empty, too-large, and rather lonely bed, Giles was afraid that he had rescued someone else; this was not _his_ Daniel, no, nor _their_ Oz: he was a shadow.


End file.
